


I'm Here

by suizome



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Feels, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suizome/pseuds/suizome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been over a year since Sherlock died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Here

It had been over a year since Sherlock died.  
  
John had tried to get over the pain that had literally stabbed through his old injuries again. The pain in his leg had came back, resulting the need of his old cane again as he walked up the stairs of the hospital wing.  
  
As John reached the roof, his cracked, ice blue eyes looking up towards the ash colored sky. His mind flashing back to the phone call. His mind flashing back to the crack and broken piece of meaty flesh that was his closest comrade.  
  
He should have been able to recover from such trauma. After being in Afghanistan, watching hundreds of people, innocent children to suicide bombers, nameless women to his closest comrades, they had all died. He had gotten over every single one, knowing that death was something that happened in war.  
  
Maybe that’s why he was here, because Sherlock hadn’t died in a war. Sherlock wasn’t a soldier. Sherlock wasn't a child growing up in an environment where he knew every day that Death was only a few feet away. Sure, Sherlock hadn’t been shy of Death: whipping corpses, stabbing pigs with harpoons, fighting men at gun point, and so many more things, but Sherlock wasn’t a soldier.  
  
Of course, he had tried to reconcile with the pain and lost of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock had told him to live a happy life. Even with Mary desperately trying to help him along. Driving him to work, holding his hand through therapy, helping him pack up his things at 221B, buying him a new laptop with no history of his previous blog, he was still here.  
  
He hadn’t even realized at this point that he was standing on the edge of the roof, right where Sherlock had been. A strange breeze pushing through the air, John stretched out his arms to just feel it. To close his eyes and just let the breeze slowly tip him over the edge, tears falling from his eyes.  
  
However, before his feet could even be lift off the ground, there was a sudden jolt that shot through him.  
  
An arm had quickly wrapped around his torso and yanked him back, knocking all the air out of him as he fell down. Grasping for breathe, he heard a familiar panting as the shaking fingers gripping tightly at his shirt, scratching him through the fabric. Opening his eyes, he found himself not dead, or maybe he was. Sherlock was right there, holding on to him, looking bloody fierce.  
  
“Am I dead?” John said, his face almost mimicking Anderson at this point.  
  
John’s body was then being shaken like the ground during a bombing. Sherlock yelling at him, “Do you think this is alright in that silly little brain of yours John? Is this what you thought when I said live a happy life?”  
  
John could only stare at Sherlock when the shaking was then replaced with a punch to the jaw, though he could tell after the pain hit him, with Sherlock shaking his hand it hurt him more than it had hurt John.  
  
John, because of that pain, soon realized this wasn’t heaven, or a dream. There was Sherlock Holmes. He was still in that ratty blue trench coat, with his collar popped up high, though somehow wrecked with emotions (so much for the highly-functioning sociopath theory) and he had punched him. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a dream… and oh god, did his jaw hurt, though significantly less than the strange stabbing thump called his pulse.  
  
He wasn’t even sure what to say, his throat felt like there were too burning hot demon hands squelching him. Managing to cough the pain away, his fingers tracing along the arteries in his throat, feeling the man’s pulse wake him up from John’s own daze.  
  
“Sherlock?”  
  
“Of course you idiot! Who else would know all your silly habits and realized you were trying to do something even more stupid than Anderson could ever accomplish in his entire existence!”  
  
Yep. It was definitely Sherlock.  
  
 ~~Play Sherlock Opening Theme Here~~

**Author's Note:**

> You Can Blame This Picture Showing up on my Dash (I would link the original post, but it seems it's no longer there): http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2uqx38qum1rtem1xo1_500.png


End file.
